Trust
by Michaela Will
Summary: My rendition of the fateful TrowaQuatre New Edward's base night. Light couple hints. Endless Waltz Spoilers Warning. Companion piece to Alliance.


Revealations Part II  
_Trust _

by Michaela Wills

The tow head stared at the screen, fingers dashing across the keys. Light tapping of every finger echoing in the quiet of the room. A sudden beep startled the youth, causing him to jump slightly in his chair. Leaning in toward the screen, aquamarine colored eyes examined the monitor carefully, but only for a fleeting moment. The tapping resumed every few moments as he scrolled the document.

He shook his head and logged out of the network. That information was not a total surprise to him. Quatre leaned back in his chair, giving a side-long look to the computer. No, it wasn't surprising at all, or at least he shouldn't be surprised this happened. It had been bound to happen, but it was disturbing. He would have to be more careful, though that was not a problem. Despite the rashness the Maguanacs thought his actions comprised of with the stranger, they had actually been carefully thought out, albiet quickly. He was, after all, trained as a stratigist.

The quiet was disturbed by an urgent ring from the laptop. It only took a few moments for Quatre to open up his connection and collect his mission assignment. Location: New Edwards Base, California, USA. Objective: Kill Trieze Khushrenada, Head of Oz. Quatre's mouth screwed up in concentration. He had a bad feeling about this and if there was one thing he had learned in training, it was to trust his instinctive feelings.

"Is this the San Francisco Star Regent Hotel? I would like to book a room. Only I'm a minor and alone . . ." Quatre turned in the booth, eye catching on a large rig with a dark headed youth at the wheel. "That's . . . Hello? Are you still there? Yes, well, there's been a change of circumstance. Could I have a room for two, please? That's not a problem. Yes, Warner, Robert Warner. Yes, I understand. Alright. Thank you."

Hanging up the phone Quatre walked out of the booth; the circumstances were too perfect. It may be a long time before he could get the young man alone again and this was a good time to do this, before things went too far. If Quatre played his hand right then perhaps he'd find out exactly what he wanted. He'd learned exactly how unused to human comfort the other was. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage.

There were some things about this he didn't like. Quatre had no bad feelings about the other, but he couldn't take the chance. Trowa, currently, was a variable that Quatre couldn't afford not to investigate properly. Still, he seemed nice and Quatre enjoyed his company. Smiling genuinely, he approached the dark headed youth.

"Hi! We meet again. I guess we're on the same mission." Trowa looked at him and then away impassively.

"I can do it alone."

"So can I." Quatre began, his play would have to be careful, Trowa was suspicious of him. Did he suspect Quatre knew? Surely Trowa had done the same on him, he wouldn't be partaking in gurreila warfare if he didn't think like one who could be caught at any moment, and killed on the spot. "But if we cooperate, it will be more successful."

"I wonder about that..."

"I'm sure it will be." Quatre called to Trowa's retreating form. It didn't matter, biding his time and letting Trowa get comfortable with him again would make things easier later. When it came to convincing Trowa to stay the night with him. He still wasn't sure how he'd manage that one. Yet the other pilot had trusted him once, perhaps he'd do so again without hesitation. Quatre only hoped.

When Trowa returned to his rig the blond was still there, casually leaning against the truck. Internally, Trowa blanched. Quatre was a good fighter and an even better tactician, he knew. It could, as he said, make the day ahead much easier if they compromised and worked as a team. But there was still a part of Trowa that shirked from working with the other pilots. A very large part.

He approached the rig with indifferent casuality, wondering what to say to the other pilot. Quatre looked up at his approach, catching Trowa's eye and not breaking the contact. When he stopped, the pair were little more than a few feet apart, staring at each other silently. Trowa waited. Quatre usually talked easily, as he did before, and he wondered about the other's hesitation in speaking, he could see Quatre's mind working, as if he wasn't exactly sure what to say.

"It's getting late."

Quatre stated as he broke his stare to look up at the sky. Trowa followed the motion, looking up as well. "So it is." Trowa glanced over at the other, noting the way Quatre wrapped his arms around himself in a protective manner. He'd been standing like that before, but now the slight discomfort showed.

"We should probably find somewhere to spend the night."

"Yes." So did this mean Quatre was going to invite him to stay with him? Probably. Hospitality and grace oozed from him. Trowa hadn't been surprised to find out about the blond. The affulency of the Winner name, while escaping him upon their first meeting, did not escape him when he checked up on the pilot's background. Quatre turned again to face him.

"I rented a room at the Star Regent Hotel. If you want you can stay with me. Get a good night's sleep in a bed before tomorrow."

"That sounds fine." Quatre nodded, dropping his hands, a smile growing on his face. Trowa watched him carefully. The blond was obviously trained very differently from himself, and that made sense with his station in life. While Trowa had learned the art of indifference to hide his emotions, Quatre had learned social formality to deal with his. And while both suited and worked well, social formality was the standard. Because Trowa had seen so much of this one in the officers that surrounded him in his early days, he could dissect it pretty well. Not many people used total indifference as a shield, that was his advantage.

The pair walked to the Star Regent in silence. Trowa stood near the lobby door, watching as Quatre went to the desk and recieved their room key. The silence between them didn't break as they slung their packs on their shoulders and entered the elevator. It followed them to the third floor and down the hall. The quiet was barely broken by the light beep and the lock barrels moving inside the door handle as Quatre opened the door and let Trowa walk in.

It was at this moment that Trowa really sensed something was wrong. He turned partly to watch Quatre as he shut the door and put his back to it, his aquamarine eyes assessing Trowa critically. The blond swallowed and spoke.

"Who are you?"

Quatre watched Trowa carefully, as he spoke, trying hard not to sound too demanding. He was being demanding, but he didn't want to threaten the green eyed boy, and he knew Trowa's ways well enough to realize if Trowa felt threatened he'd become suspicious again and then Quatre would have to take drastic measures. He'd have to do things he really, truly didn't want to. Trowa was a variable and one he couldn't afford. No matter that he was a nice, quiet variable that probably didn't warrant this, but for his safety, Quatre had to take care of this.

There were already too many variables on this trip to add Trowa into the equation without knowing what he was getting into. Trowa's eyes narrowed as he looked on Quatre, his voice colored ever so slightly with confusion.

"What?"

"I asked who you are." Quatre let his left hand move back. Trowa was getting suspicious. He could feel the tension in the room rising by the decible as he was answered.

"I'm Trowa Barton."

"No," Quatre answered, his voice beginning the betray him. He forced calm and determination back into it. He didn't have a choice, he'd examined the possibilities. He had to do this. It was for his safety. "You aren't." Trowa's eyebrow quirked, giving Quatre the gall to continue. "Who are you?"

"I am Trowa Barton."

Quatre's nerves were on fire. They both knew the truth, he could tell that internally, the boy across from him freely admitted he wasn't Trowa Barton. But, Quatre supposed, under interrogation, this youth would hold his story to the end. That must be how he feels, as if he's now under interrogation.

Quatre made a split second desicion. This brown haired teen wouldn't tell him anything freely, that he was now sure of. The drastic measures would have to be taken. Quatre yanked the handgun from the small of his back and leveled it at the other with a two-handed grip. Releasing the safety, Quatre aimed the handgun more carefully, lining it up with the youth's heart.

"I know you aren't Trowa Barton. Who are you and what has happened to the real Trowa Barton? How did you get a Gundam? What are you doing here? I don't want to shoot you, I really don't," Quatre swallowed, forcing his arms steady, he really didn't want to kill the other pilot, "But I'll have to if you won't tell me who you are."

Trowa eyed the handgun carefully, raising his own hands in surrender. Noting the shake in the blond's hold he realised that Quatre was telling the truth. He didn't want to be doing this. He must think, Trowa speculated, that I'm not going to tell him anything else. I guess that's understandable, because I won't.

Trowa suddenly began to reconsider. Quatre was staring him down and did hold a semi-automatic lined up for a fatal shot, but his eyes pleaded, nearly begged Trowa to tell him the truth. To give him reason to put away the gun. They spoke of betrayal. Before learning about 'Trowa Barton' Quatre proved his trust implicitly by taking him to the Maguanac Base. Quatre had respected and trusted him as another Gundam pilot. The shake of the gun remind Trowa of the situation. Trowa raised his voice.

"You're right." Trowa watched the other visibly relax in relief. "I'm not Trowa Barton. I have no other name. When he died, I took his."

He watched Quatre in amazement. Tactician he was, interrogator he was not. Tactically, Quatre had done exactly what he would have, was the situation reversed. He'd been prudent enough to check Trowa's background as he'd done to Quatre. It made sense that anyone deliberately checking for Trowa Barton specifically would be unnerved by finding a picture of a blond man instead of a brunette teen. Thus Quatre's actions were not unwarranted.

Of course, the manner in which Quatre relaxed, full of relief, also revealed that this was not his usual way of dealing with such a problem.

"So how did you get a Gundam?"

"He was given to me by it's creator. Much in the way your Gundam was given to you I suppose." Quatre blinked at Trowa in surprise. Of all the scenarios the blond had prepared for, this was obviously one he hadn't considered. He was no longer trying to mask his reactions, in fact, since they entered the hotel room, the other had given up all pretexts. Trowa studied the tremors that passed through the blond with passive interest.

"A-and the real Trowa Barton, the one who was supposed to pilot your Gundam?"

"He was shot. By a collaborator in the Gundam's design. He didn't want Operation Meteor to take place as the Bartons would have it, had the Doktor not taken over and sent me off with Heavyarms ahead of schedule." This seemed to be all Quatre could take. He just barely managed to reset the safety before dropping the handgun and sliding to the floor. He braced his hands against the ground, breathing deeply, whispering something to himself. Trowa simply stood, looking at him for a moment before tentatively kneeling down a putting a hand to his shoulder.

"Quatre? Daijobu?" Quatre looked up. Green met waterlogged blue.

"Ara, daijobu." The blond smiled, "I don't have to kill you, my uchuu no kokoro was right: we are allies."

Trowa gave the blond an odd, uncertain look before hauling the youth to his feet. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly with amusement at the obvious relief in Quatre's manner.

"Yes, I guess we are allies then."

Quatre nodded, smiling brillantly. The pair both turned away from each other, examining the room. Two twin beds sat neatly side by side, a night-table between them. There was a desk and a vid screen on the opposite wall. There was a closet to one side, next to a door that presumably led to the bathroom.

Quatre picked up his bag and walked farther into the room. He eyed the gun as he passed it, but didn't feel the need to pick it up. In fact, he wanted to leave the gun there, permanently. The blond put down his bag on the far bed by the windows. He still shook slightly from the aderaline that had fed him into pulling the gun before, but Quatre felt much better already. He turned to watch Trowa scoop up his pack and the discarded gun.

"Do you want to take a shower first? I'll probably take a while, and use all the hot water." Quatre smiled softly, gesturing to the bathroom. The brown headed youth nodded, leaving his pack on the other bed and depositing the gun on the nightstand. He disappeared behind the bathroom door and Quatre let out a sigh of relief.

Sitting on the corner the blond took off his shoes and vest, then laid down on his stomach. Rummaging through his pack, he heard the water running in the bathroom. As much as Quatre liked his roommate, the test of wits the brunette had put him through made him glad for the respite. He finally found his journal and pulled the blue-bound book from the rest of his belongings. Laying down across the bed he turned to the windows and Quatre tuned out the world as he wrote.

In fact, Quatre managed to tune out the world so well he didn't hear the water turn off. And he didn't hear Trowa open the bathroom down and walk out. Nor did he sense Trowa behind him until the other pilot tapped him on the shoulder.

"Quatre . . ."

The blond sucked in a gasp, his entire body going stiff at the touch. He turned part way to look at the dark pilot with wide eyes before realising who it was. Trowa had one leg on the bed to lean over and touch Quatre's shoulder. He wore only his boxers, holding his jeans and turtleneck tucked under the other arm.

"Oh, it's you. Sorry, I-I guess I'm a little jumpy tonight." He gave Trowa a rueful smile. Trowa simply blinked at him for a moment before his brow furrowed. He didn't say anything, but ran his fingertips over Quatre's shoulder. Quatre tensed immediately.

"God, Quatre. How do you pilot like this?"

"Wha?"

Trowa moved his hand to the middle of Quatre's back, testing the muscles he found, "You're way too tense. Some tension is good, and your Gundam will cause a certain amount, but you shouldn't be like this. Doesn't it bother you?"

Quatre stared at the brunette with wide eyes. Trowa honestly had no idea how the other had accumulated so much tension. Perhaps it was the lifestyle, but he couldn't be sure. Perhaps it had to do with the recent change in lifestyle. That would make sense. Dropping his clothes on the bed, Trowa scooted up until he was kneeling next to his roommate.

"What are you doing?"

Quatre twisted to look up at Trowa, his book open infront of him, pen still poised over the pages. "I'm going to loosen up some of these muscles for you. You need it." Trowa caught the curious look in those aquamarine eyes. The look changed to questioning and Trowa answered before any question could be posed. "If you want to help, you could lose the shirt. Then just try to relax."

Quatre stared at him for another moment before pulling his legs up under him and sitting up. The blond dropped his head to undo the buttons on his shirt, then the pair on his cuffs. The shirt slid off and Quatre laid down again tenatively resting his head on his arms.

Trowa began to work at the tense muscles carefully. Quatre was really tense and wary of him. Looking up from the light skin, he met aquamarine eyes, Quatre's eyes that watched him with a little reserve.

He returned to the other's back, trying to fight the flush that threatened to reach his cheeks. Why was Quatre watching him so intently? When he came to a knotted spot at the small of the blonde's back, he drove a soft cry from Quatre. Trowa wondered if that was a good thing. Quatre had been silent and pretty unresponsive up to now.

"Daijobu?" He asked, "Tell me if I hurt you." Their eyes met again. Quatre simply blinked for a moment. Suddenly, those soft aquamarine eyes gentled even more. They fluttered closed under Trowa's watchful gaze.

"I trust you, Trowa Barton."

The words slipped softly from the Quatre's mouth. Trowa furrowed his brow trying to understand for a moment. Then went back to the tight knot at the blonde's lower back. It was when this knot came loose that Trowa understood.

A smile quirked on his lips and sparkled in his eyes.

Quatre closed his eyes and allowed the words to slide from his lips.

"I trust you, Trowa Barton." He was glad to let the name roll off his tongue again. He wasn't sure if he should at first, but every fiber of his body told him that his assertion had been right. Trowa had no alternate agenda, he was truly a Gundam pilot and Quatre could trust him.

Trowa had trusted him with the truth. He would keep the unspoken agreement. Trowa hadn't needed to reveal himself. He was Trowa Barton, he would always be Trowa Barton and Quatre would never question it or say otherwise again.

He felt Trowa's heart lighten. And his lightened in response.


End file.
